


Within the Dream

by opalheart12



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9396878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalheart12/pseuds/opalheart12
Summary: They met at a ball. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on her that he needed to know her. Their love was passionate and all consuming, until it wasn't. Now extremely bitter toward one another and facing divorce, they relive the memories that brought them together.





	1. Chapter 1

_You could be my favourite place_   
_I’ve ever been_   
_I got lost in your willingness_   
_To dream within the dream_

* * *

 

**NOVEMBER 7, 2013**

“Oh, do stop fidgeting, Ichabod. You act as if this is torture.”

An insufferable sigh came from his side and Abraham could practically hear Ichabod’s fingers tapping furiously at his side. “Is it not? Spending my Saturday night in a stuffy ballroom when I could be making final edits on my dissertation?”

Abraham rolled his eyes and stood when a favorite song of his began to play over the sound system. He tossed a hundred dollar bill in front of Ichabod and patted him on the shoulder. “You’d better get unspeakably drunk tonight if you have _any_ hope of retrieving that stick out of your ass.”

Ichabod’s expression was one of indignation and he shook his head as he pocket the bill and stood to walk over to the bar that sat outside on the terrace. Here, at least, he might be able to get a bit of fresh air. He was not at all a drinker, as Abraham well knew, but as a struggling doctoral candidate who was fretfully close to completing his dissertation, he would allow a glass of wine to help him forget how much he truly did not want to be in attendance at the 50th Annual New York Servicemen’s Ball.

A gust of air blew comfortably around him as he took a deep sip of his wine and settled in at the bar, and he thought it might be the perfect place to get away for a bit when he saw her.

She was a radiant vision.

Her dark brown skin appeared to glimmer with the light of a thousand galaxies, helped in large part by the glittering diamond necklace she wore. Her small form dominated the space she occupied, even in her grand dress. The gown in question was a strapless red satin piece with a sharp triangle neckline and a skirt that went out from the waist. The deep red of the dress was somehow matched to her lips and her dark hair, arranged in some complicated updo with bangs and tendrils framed her face, made her glowing brown eyes glint in the low light.

She looked out over the terrace wall at the city beyond and let out a sigh as she turned back to her still nearly full glass of white wine. He noticed her mumbling to herself as she sat on the benched row overlooking the city beyond.

He felt helpless as he tried to pull his eyes away from her. His world felt as if it had suddenly been jolted and he took in another gulp of wine as he felt his mind slide back to her.

He needed to know her.

He found himself walking over to the far edge of the bench row as a wave of cool air rushed around him. Ichabod’s eyes were drawn to the city of Sleepy Hollow, glittering softly even with the background of the forested hills beyond. It was a magnificent sight. Still, he could not help the spike of anxiety he felt upon thinking about the fact that his dissertation was due in a week.

“You look miserable.” a voice stated. He looked to his right, pulling himself as far from that anxiety as possible, and noticed that the beautiful woman in the red gown was talking to him.

He allowed a shy smile to break across his face. “Perhaps. There _are_ worse places to be, though.”

She let out a laugh just then and he could not explain the warming feeling that spread throughout his body. “Well, I suppose the two of us will have to take solace in that, won’t we?”

“Of course.”

Things were silent between them for a moment and Ichabod found that he enjoyed it. He tried to gaze over at her when she wasn’t looking. Her beauty was positively arresting. Her sight drifted over to him and he looked away sheepishly. He felt absolutely ridiculous.

“So, how’d you end up here?” she asked as she moved over so that he was closer to her. Her necklace glinted in the light and he tried to keep his eyes from wandering any lower than her face.

He gave a mildly exasperated sigh. “My best friend tore me from my final edits of my dissertation to come here. He says he wanted to keep our family tradition alive.”

“Tradition?” The woman asked curiously.

“Yes,” he said. “Abraham and I are adoptive brothers. My family adopted him when I was a year old after huhis parents died. He has been attached to me like a parasite since.” Ichabod sounded as if he thought the idea was totally preposterous, though the woman could detect adoration for Abraham in his voice. “What about you? Why are you here?”

The woman looked down and Ichabod knew if he could see her that she might be blushing. “I’m the guest of honor.”

His eyebrows went up slightly in shock. “Whatever for?”

She smiled at him and sat back against the bench with a heavy sigh. “I am the FBI agent who singlehandedly brought down the most notorious crime lord in the Northeast: Damien Moloch and his associate Henry Parrish.” She used air quotes and a voice that sounded rather official and robotic.

“You don’t sound particularly thrilled.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t do any of that by myself. I had help. I always do. Lord knows I didn’t want this ridiculous award!”

“You’re quite modest, you know. Most would jump at the chance to be presented with such a prestigious honor.” Ichabod commented as his eyes began to wander out over the city again.

“Of course. But I’m _not_ most people. I don’t _need_ any of that. I was just...doing my job.”

Their conversation was interrupted by applause from inside the ballroom. At that moment, both of them heard the announcer introduce Governor Gemma Wade-Addison.

“The governor of New York is here?” Crane asked curiously.

“Yes,” the woman said, standing and dusting off her dress. “She’s presenting my award.”

Without another word, she headed inside faster than Ichabod would have thought was possible in the dress she was wearing. He stared after her for a moment before doing the same.

From his vantage point, he noted Abraham at a table near the front looking around for him. With a resigned sigh, he navigated his way through the tables quickly as Governor Wade-Addison took the stage.

“Please, tell me you did not heed my advice that you get drunk off your arse.” Abraham commented quietly as he joined in the applause for the governor.

Ichabod responded with a sly smile. “Bram, I am as drunk as you are.” He took pleasure in the mildly annoyed look that passed across the other man’s face as the governor began her speech.

“It is an absolute honor to be here tonight celebrating the men and women who work tirelessly to ensure the safety of all of us at every moment in this glorious state. As you all know, this year is a very special occasion: the 50th anniversary of the very first New York Servicemen’s Ball!” Wade-Addison stated, a bright smile on her face. Her voice commanded attention and the attendees could not look away.

Ichabod took in her appearance, noting that she was an older woman who appeared to be in her late forties. She had an olive complexion with short, close-cut hair and vibrant green eyes. Her dress, a deep emerald, gave her a glowing appearance.

“Every year we honor a serviceman or woman who has gone far above and beyond the call of duty, who has shown exceptional courage, strength, and selflessness in the line of duty. This year, we honor someone who, in her capacity as an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, finally brought an end to the heinous acts perpetrated by Damien Moloch and Henry Parrish.” The governor paused as the crowd applauded thunderously. She smiled and Ichabod was happy to note that it was with genuine pride. When the applause died down, Governor Wade-Addison continued on.

“In this, she has saved countless lives and has helped provide closure to families affected by their egregious actions, risking her own life in the process. The state of New York would like to award Grace Abigail Mills, former lieutenant of the Sleepy Hollow Police Department and present FBI agent, the New York Servicemen’s Award for Outstanding Achievement!” She stepped back from the podium as an official walked across the stage to hand her a tall crystal obelisk with a stainless steel base. From his proximity to the stage, Ichabod noted some kind of engraving along the obelisk.

“That’s _her_?” Abraham asked in shock as Grace Mills walked slowly from her table on the far end of the front row to the stage, smiling modestly and waving, looking every bit like she was counting the seconds until she could go home.

“Yes.” Ichabod responded blankly, transfixed by her beauty in that moment as she crossed the stage to hug the governor and accept the award from her.

Abraham and Ichabod, along with nearly every other person in the ballroom, provided Grace with a standing ovation and, though he did not know her past the conversation they had, he felt ridiculously proud of her.

“Oh, wow, thank you! Thank you, thank you, so much!” She attempted to begin her speech as the applause continued and she passed a nervous smile toward Governor Wade-Addison, who responded with a reassuring pat on her free hand. “Please, please, thank you.”

Finally, the crowd died down and Grace Mills took a deep breath as she stared down at the award she had just been given. Her eyes scanned across the room before they settled on Ichabod and she relaxed slightly.

“I...wow. I honestly did not expect something like this. Most people say that when they get an award but I may be one of the few people that means it.” She chuckled nervously before continuing.

“I want it to be known that I did not do this alone. I did not, at any point, do this alone. To August Corbin, my mentor and the best man I ever met: I know you must be so proud up there. I wish you could have been here to see...this.” She held the award up slightly. “Tell Mama about it if you see her.”

Grace paused again and Ichabod could see that she was tearing up. She looked up to avoid tears spilling and took another deep breath.

“To Frank Irving, my boss and one of the finest agents I ever had the privilege of knowing, I thank you for everything. I would not be a fraction of the agent I am today had it not been for you. To Jennifer Mills, who will probably strangle me for not calling her ‘Jenny’, I thank you for being my rock and for supporting me every time I have ever needed it and you. Most importantly, I would like to thank and dedicate this award to the people who deserve it a thousand times more than me: the families of Andrew Brooks, Luke Morales, Katrina Van Tassel, Daniel Reynolds and Bethany Ross.”

A solemn silence fell over the ballroom then and Ichabod saw the governor’s face take on a melancholy appearance, as did Grace.

“Damien Moloch and Henry Parrish took things from you that no jail sentence, no award, and no amount of money and condolences could ever replace. They took away your daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, friends, and neighbors. Their deaths leave gaping holes that fill me with a kind of sorrow and drive that only work can relieve. I hope that I have helped to bring you peace somehow, because of any person or persons deserves this award for exceptional courage and strength, it is you. Thank you.”

Ichabod and Abraham applauded as she bowed and turned to hug the governor again before wiping her eyes gently and smiling at the crowd and leaving the stage. He saw her hand the award to a woman that bore a resemblance to her and leave the ballroom to go out into the hall.

He felt something propel him toward the very same direction she had gone in and soon, he too was outside in the hallway. He saw the edge of her dress as she rounded the corner. “Ms. Mills, wait!” He called out as he followed. When Ichabod rounded the corner, he saw her walking toward the elevators. “Agent Mills!”

She stopped and turned, expressions of sadness and fatigue on her face. “Can I help you with something?”

“I only wished to make certain that you were alright. You seemed a bit distraught after accepting your award.” Crane offered as he maintained a respectable distance away from her.

“Your point?” She responded defensively, crossing her arms.

“What can I do to make it better?”

“Why do you _want_ to?”

He reminded himself to stand tall and he placed his hands behind his back as he always did when he was nervous. “You deserve it.”

The look in her eyes changed as she cocked her head to the side slightly, curiosity beaming out at him. “What did you have in mind?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**PRESENT DAY**  
“What did you have in mind, Mrs. Crane?”

“Mills.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs….Mills. As I was saying before, what did you have in mind?”

Abbie sighed and looked down at her hand where her ring used to be. Instead she was turning it over repeatedly in her hands, the simple yet elegant band glinting each time it caught the sunlight.

She wanted to vomit.

“Can we do this later in the week? There’s been so much happening at work and I...I don’t think I’m as focused as I should be for this conversation.” She gave the lawyer an apologetic smile before gathering her belongings and leaving.

She started sobbing when she got in the car.

“Fuck!” She screamed, banging her fists against the steering wheel, wondering why everything in her life now felt so horribly wrong.

She knew why. Oh, every moment her heart was beating she knew why it all felt like shit. Her mind traveled back to the night everything...changed.

 _ **5 Months Ago…**_  
“Would you please lay off the tequila for, like, a second, Jen?” Abbie begged as she pulled Jenny away from some gorgeous girl at the bar.

Jenny pouted at her as she crossed her arms like an insolent child. “Come on, Abs. Don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“Alright, we’re leaving. Let’s go.” Abbie dragged a mildly protestant Jenny out of the Four Thieves’ Pub and down the street to the alley where they parked.

By the time they got back to Jenny’s apartment, Abbie had to carry her inside. Joe, at least, helped to make the burden a bit easier to handle. “I’ll take it from here,” he said. “Tell Crane he owes me a drink.”

When Abbie got home, the lights were on and Crane’s car was in the driveway. She found that slightly odd considering the time of night but continued into the house anyway.

The minute she walked into the living room, however, she knew that something was horribly wrong. Ichabod sat on the floor, his back against the sofa and his head in his hands sobbing horribly. She felt her stomach drop and she raced over to him.

“What happened, baby? What’s wrong?” She tried to pull his face up to get him to look at her and she felt her heart break into a thousand pieces.

His eyes were horribly bloodshot and puffy, his face an ashen mess. His usually orderly hair was in disarray and his clothes were slightly wrinkled. Her eyes flickered around the living room quickly and she noticed that he’d thrown things at some point.

“What happened?” She asked again.

He stared at her as if he hardly knew her and his eyes filled with tears once more. “Abraham,” he croaked out. “Dead.”

She felt shock flood her veins. “What? No! No, he can’t be!”

She and Crane had been trying to start a family. He was getting ready to pursue tenure at St. Holloway’s College as his books were doing so well now. She was gearing for a promotion. Then, Abraham was killed and Crane changed.

“We'll get through this. I swear it.” She told him the same thing she told every grieving family she dealt with in her profession. But as the months went on, he withdrew further from her, mourning the loss of his brother. Then, the drinking started.

He was not an angry drunk by any means. He was quite the opposite. More often than not, she caught him in his study, crying for hours on end, his work abandoned. He was a shell of his former self.

Then came the miscarriage.

Abbie had found out she was pregnant two days after Abraham passed away. At the time, she felt both excited and incredibly nervous. She convinced herself that waiting until Crane was better would be the right time to tell him. For three and a half months, she convinced herself of that.

Then, on Abraham’s birthday, Ichabod got ridiculously drunk and started talking to pictures of Abraham. Abbie remembered sitting in the dining room, tears streaming silently down her face as she heard Ichabod leave message after message on Abraham’s voicemail just to have an excuse to hear his voice.

Things were bad. But they got even worse that night.

Ichabod had passed out in his office, the door ajar and bottles and papers all over the floor. The lights were still on. Abbie, still sitting at the dining room table, was trying to figure out how she could help Ichabod. She no longer felt like he could get by without any outside help. She would tell him about the baby the next day.

She fell asleep at the dining room table and was startled awake by a sharp pain in her stomach, letting out a pained gasp as she clutched her stomach. Abbie looked down and saw that her grey sweats were stained red and she felt tears sting her eyes as she let out a mournful whail. “Oh, no, God, no.”

She raced to the bathroom, yanking her pants down as she bent over in pain. Somehow, she managed to get her phone from her pocket and call Jenny.

“Abs, it's three in the morning.” Jenny groaned as she answered.

“Something’s wrong,” she croaked out, her voice broken. “I need to go to the hospital.”  
******* _ **  
Present Day…**_

Her phone trilled loudly, shaking her from her thoughts. She wiped tears from her eyes and answered, paying hardly any attention to who was calling.

“How’d the meeting with the divorce lawyer go?” It was Jenny. Abbie sighed half from relief and half from annoyance.

“Do you have to say it like that?”

“Yes,” Jenny responded with a mirthless laugh. “You haven’t been happy since...well, you know. Does he know you’ve met with the divorce lawyer yet?”

Abbie frowned as she glanced up at the darkening sky and began driving, hoping that she could beat the storm home. Home. Was it even home anymore?

“I haven’t told him but I think he knows. Jenny...we barely speak anymore and when we do it's always snide comments or something. I don’t want to give up on us, Jen.” Abbie answered honestly as she turned off onto the street that would eventually lead to she and Crane’s home.

“Abs, I hate to break it to you, but it seems like he already has. He’s shut down. You can want him to get help all you want but...Ichabod won’t change. You know that.”

She parked the car in the driveway and turned the car off. “He can. I love him enough to believe that.”

“He still needs help, Abs. A therapist, meds, whatever! He can’t keep dragging you down with him like this. It isn’t good for you.”

Abbie sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly tired as she looked up at the house she and Crane shared. There had been a time when she’d been excited to come home every day, a time when the thought of coming in from a long day at work and seeing Ichabod cook dinner for her made her happy.

She finished her call with Jenny and took a deep breath before heading inside. Crane’s car was in the driveway and parked correctly, thank God. When she got inside she heard mournful classical music coming from the back of the house. Ichabod would be in his office.

She followed the music tentatively and found him grading papers, a bland expression on his face. She noticed a glass of whiskey on the edge of desk.

“Hey.” Her voice still sounded a bit hoarse, but Crane didn’t seem to notice.

He looked up, an unreadable expression passing across his face. “Oh, good. You’re back.” His voice, normally so expressive, sounded horribly bored and monotone.

“Crane, you need help.” She blurted out, immediately cursing herself for being so tactless.

He put the papers down, confusion spreading across his face. “I beg your pardon?”

Abbie took a breath and walked forward a bit. “You need help, Crane. I can’t... _we_ can’t keep going on like this.”

His posture went rod straight as her words reached him. “What on Earth would I need help for? I _lost_ my brother. Should there be another way for me to react?”

An anger with which Abbie was unfamiliar began to simmer within and she felt heat rise in her chest. “Drinking sure ain’t it.” She replied snidely.

“You do _not_ get to tell me how to grieve, Grace Abigail! You do _not_ get to tell me how to deal with the loss of--”

“Loss? LOSS?!” Abbie was screaming at this point. She felt a combination of dread, anger, and sadness pool within her. Her hands began to shake and she cursed to herself as tears spilled over. “I _lost_ someone too, Ichabod, and I dealt with it _alone_! I dealt with it by myself because you couldn’t pull your goddamn head out of a bottle!”

 _No_ , she told herself immediately. _You_ _won’t_ _tell_ _him_ _like_ _this_. _Not_ _like_ _this_. She spun away so that she was no longer facing Ichabod. “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.” Her voice came out a hoarse whisper, cracking slightly as tears clouded her vision.

She tried with all she had inside her not to turn around to see how Crane reacted to her words. He was a smart man. He would’ve known what she insinuated. But talking about what happened to her was something Abbie just wasn’t ready for yet.

“Abbie, wait!” Crane called after her. “I will get help, I swear it.”

She froze and turned so he could see only one side of her face. “Okay. Good,” she croaked out. “You’ll have to do it without me here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**NOVEMBER 16, 2013**

“Without me? How the hell can you have a party in your honor without me?” Abraham burst into Ichabod’s study, bull-in-the-china-shop that he was.

Ichabod, however, was quite confused. “Who said anything about a party?” He took his glasses off, peering at his brother curiously.

Abraham smiled in response as he sat down in the chair across from him. “Well, I’m glad you asked, Dr. Crane. I was thinking of a night at The Four Thieves and a couple of--”

“What do you mean ‘doctor’?” Ichabod interrupted him.

A huge grin broke out across Abraham’s face as he pulled a letter from his back pocket. Shock spread across Ichabod’s face as he stood from his chair. “No,” he breathed out. “Truly?”

“‘Dear Mr. Ichabod A. Crane, we are delighted to inform you that your dissertation was approved and you may now move forward with completing your doctoral studies.’” Abraham read the contents, his smile growing ever larger by the second. “Oh, you’ve done it, mate! You’re a doctor now!”

He could not stop the excited laugh that escaped him as his hands flitted nervously at his sides. “It won’t be official until I graduate but--”

“But, we will celebrate tonight. We are going to get unbelievably drunk off our asses and celebrate. Now, call that lovely woman from the Servicemen’s Ball and invite her out to bask in your success!” Abraham said as slapped Ichabod’s shoulder in excitement.

Ichabod felt nervous suddenly and he felt his hands tapping furiously at his sides. “Yes, I think I shall.”

* * *

_5 Hours Later…_

  
“Jen, you should come with me tonight. You know how much I hate going to parties alone.” Abbie said, balancing the phone against her shoulder as she slid her feet into a pair of deep red heels before straightening her white cross-backed dress.

“Thanks, Abs, but no thanks. Irving wants to go for a movie and some other corny shit. You know how he is.” She meant to sound annoyed but it came off as indulgent. Abbie smiled at the happiness in her sister’s voice. It was clear that she and Frank Irving were deeply in love, despite the front Jenny tried to put up.

Abbie placed the phone on the dresser and pressed the speakerphone button as she tried to decide on a hairstyle she liked. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Have fun and don’t make me an aunt.” She quickly hung up upon hearing Jenny’s indignant protest, laughing to herself as she arranged her natural curls into a gorgeous updo. While she didn’t normally wear makeup, she thought the occasion called for it. Somehow, she’d been able to locate a shade of lipstick that matched her shoes perfectly.

She rifled through her jewelry drawer in search of a pair of gold dangling earrings that balanced with the stark white of her dress and a matching necklace that settled into the plunging neckline of her dress courtesy of Jenny. Her phone buzzed again and she let out a small laugh upon seeing Jenny’s demand that she send her pictures of her outfit.

Twenty minutes later, she’d parked outside The Four Thieves and was giving her appearance a once over when she heard a tapping on her car window. She rolled it down, spotting a tall blonde man with bright gray eyes. He was impressively built and wore a button down dress shirt, slacks, and some of the nicest dress shoes Abbie had ever seen.

“Can I help you, sir?” She asked apprehensively.

The man in question let out an easy laugh. “Not to worry, my dear, I know you’re Ichabod’s girl. I’m his brother, Abraham.”

Realization hit Abbie and she couldn’t help the smile that touched her face when she heard how he’d referred to her. She grabbed her purse and rolled the window back up before getting out of the car.

“It’s nice to meet you finally. He talks about you a lot.” Abbie went to shake his hand but Abraham appeared to be more of a hugger.

“No good things, I hope. Come, come, my dear. We are celebrating as you well know.” He linked his arm in hers and escorted her into the bar where a party seemed to be fully in swing.

She spotted a banner hanging up near a table in the back that read Congratulations, Doctor on it and she felt herself smiling again as she saw Ichabod Crane near the head of the table.

“Agent Mills! I did not think you would come.” He nearly jumped from his seat when he saw her being led by Abraham. “I must say you look positively radiant tonight. But then, do you not always?”

She fought against the warmth that spread through her cheeks and the bashful smile that took residence on her face. She did her best to quell the butterflies that were flying so furiously in her stomach she thought she might vomit. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

The next two hours passed with The Four Thieves becoming quite packed, mostly with strangers, all in celebration of Dr. Ichabod Crane. When space started to seem more like a suggestion than a guarantee, Crane proposed that he and Abbie step outside to the bar’s outdoor section.

Interestingly, the bar sat on the back of hill, its slope feeding into the Sleepy Hollow City Park. Thus, when Crane and Abbie finally made their way outside, they were overlooking most of the city.

“Needed some air, huh?” Abbie asked nudging him.

Crane let out a soft laugh. “Yes, well, I grow quite anxious in the presence of large crowds,” he said as he loosened his tie slightly. He took a relieved breath before speaking again. “Of course, I am more than grateful for Abraham and this celebration of my dissertation being accepted. I just don’t know that Abraham recalls that I am not quite fond of...large celebrations.”

Abbie reached a sympathetic hand out and he sunk his own into it. The wind blew strongly just then, giving the air a slightly chilly feeling. “I don’t want this to sound as dirty or cheesy as it’s going to, Crane, but would you like to go...celebrate someplace else?”

He laughed quietly in response. “I do not think there could have been a way for you to say that in a clean way but I thought you’d never ask.”

As it happened, someplace else meant Crane’s apartment with the two of them watching episodes of Game of Thrones. She threw popcorn at him when he spoiled the end of the episode where a few of her favorite characters were killed.

“You suck! Now I don’t want to watch it anymore!” She said afterward, throwing another fistful of popcorn at him.

“In my defense, the episode has been out for months! I thought you already knew how it ended.” Crane replied as he took the bowl from her, placing it high above her reach. “I refuse to endure another popcorn assault from you.”

Abbie rolled her eyes and laughed as she stood and gathered her jacket and bag. “Well, that’s fine, Dr. Crane. I have to go into work tomorrow anyway so I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Work? On a Sunday?” Crane asked, puzzled, as he picked up stray popcorn pieces off the sofa.

She shrugged. “Crime waits for no man. Or woman. Perks of being a newy awarded FBI agent. I get tossed a million cases from people hoping I can solve them like I did the Moloch/Parrish case.”

“It is perfectly understandable that they would want the finest agent the FBI has ever seen on all their cases.”

At some point, he’d moved so that he was standing right in front of her, close enough for Abbie to feel certain that he could hear her heart beating quickly in her chest. She fought the warmth that spread across her face at his compliment.

“Yeah, maybe.” She looked down, a small smile on her face, before looking up at him again. “I had a great time tonight. And I’m very proud of you, Ichabod. I’m glad I got to help celebrate.”

He moved slightly closer to her. “Well, it hardly would have been a celebration without you here.” She felt his hands come to rest conservatively on her sides.

“That’s nice of you to say.” Her voice came out breathy and...did she feel dizzy? She could see him moving even closer to her and her heart felt like it might burst from her chest.

“Abbie...would you mind if I kissed you?”

“No,” she breathed out. “Not at all.”

It was at this moment that the rest of the world fell away and all that existed was the two of them. He slowly backed her against the wall and she regretfully broke away.

“I need to go.”

“Of course. When can I see you again?”

She pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “I’ll call you.”


	4. Chapter 4

** PRESENT DAY **

****"Did you call him?” Jenny asked as she sat on the end of the sofa in her living room. “He’s been blowing up my phone nonstop.”

Abbie shrugged listlessly. “I don’t care. He said he would get help, and now he needs to prove it.”

Jenny bit her lip, contemplating the question she was about to ask her sister. “Abs, I don’t mean any offense but...do you still want to be with him?”

Abbie’s voice cracked when she responded, the result of crying every night for the past week. “What?”

Her sister sighed and reached out to take her hand. “After everything that’s happened...how do you know you still want to be with him?”

The silence from Abbie made the room feel deafening as she stared at her sister with wide, tired eyes.

“You couldn’t even tell him you were pregnant because of his drinking. He didn’t even _notice_ you were pregnant, Abbie! And then you went through losing the...you went through that _alone_ when he should have been there for you.” Jenny explained, feeling tears spring to her own eyes. “Do you even know if you can trust him to be there for you anymore?”

Warm tears made their way down Abbie’s face as she absorbed all that her sister was saying, knowing she had a more than valid point. But she could not deny that her relationship with Ichabod had fundamentally shattered the day Abraham died.

Ichabod Crane, the man who practically cherished the ground Abbie walked on, the man who had an eidetic memory, had treated her as if she were nothing more than wallpaper when Abraham died. She had ceased to be important to him, even though she had been running herself ragged trying to keep him together.

She wasn’t sure if she could trust him or even love him the same as she had before. She knew she would be able to stamp it down and pretend none of it ever happened, all for the sake of making up, but she was not her parents. She would not resume a relationship with Ichabod unless they had laid every single feeling they had about the previous month’s events on the table.

“I don’t know,” Abbie whispered. “I don’t know anymore.”

* * *

“Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Crane. What brings you here?” A man hardly older than him asked. He had ink black hair with hints of gray and hard green eyes. He was shorter than Crane by about an inch or two and wore a suit that was tailored so perfectly that Ichabod knew it was more than he could ever dream of affording.

“I believe myself to be a depressed alcoholic, Dr. Beckford.” Crane ground out reluctantly.

He still could not believe that he’d gotten as low as he did. Abraham would have done backflips in his grave if he had known how thoroughly Ichabod had ruined everything.

“I see,” said Dr. Beckford. “In what ways has your own behavior led you to draw this conclusion, sir?”

Ichabod took a deep breath and put his face in his hands as the weight of the past few months drew down on him. His marriage was in shambles and he hadn’t spoken to Abbie since the day she left. All of his calls to her went straight to voicemail. He’d attempted calling Jenny but she too was ignoring all of his calls. He’d stopped drinking, finding any alcohol in the house and pouring it down the drain, the day after Abbie left. But, still, he could not shake that he did need help. He told Beckford as much.

“My brother died,” Ichabod explained. “He had an aneurysm in his sleep.”

Beckford nodded and scribbled something in the notebook in his lap. “I am terribly sorry for your loss, Mr. Crane. How did you react to this?”

He took another deep breath before he began to speak. “Abraham always teased me about the fact that I did not drink nearly as much as him. After he died, it felt like a way to be closer to him. But...after a while I realized it dulled the pain for a bit.”

“And you are married, aren’t you, Mr. Crane?” Beckford asked clinically.

“Yes,” Ichabod responded, a fond smile upon his face. “I am.”

Beckford nodded again. “How did she take the news of your brother’s passing and your subsequent behavior?”

Ichabod suddenly felt his stomach leap into his throat. He felt as if a weight was sitting on his chest. “She was so supportive, Dr. Beckford. She was. But looking back, I think I forgot that she loved him just as much as I. We’d been so happy before, and I thought I couldn't possibly burden her with more...I should have talked to her. I did he worst thing a husband could do to his beloved,” Crane said, feeling tears spring to his eyes. “I forgot her.”

* * *

Joe Corbin got back from a particularly trying 16 hour shift at nearly midnight. When he got into the apartment he and Jenny shared, he found Jenny coming out of the guest room wiping her eyes and sniffling.

He tossed his EMT bag on the sofa and met her as she was coming into the kitchen. “Everything okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

Jenny shook her head and sighed. “I just hate seeing her like this, you know? Crane was supposed to _love_ her, not...whatever _this_ is.” She gestured wildly for a moment before snaking her arms around Joe’s waist.

“I think he does love her in some weird fucking way. He’s just been so shit at showing it lately.” Joes kissed her forehead and squeezed her slightly before pulling away. “Is there anything left from last night?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Ate it all this morning as soon as I woke up. _But_ , Abbie and I ordered Thai a few hours ago and I left my food for you.” Jenny warmed his plate in the microwave and Joe felt his chest swelling.

Jenny had been all wrapped up in helping Abbie lately, which he understood completely. He knew those two were closer than he thought sisters could be. He’d been the one to race over to Abbie and Crane’s house with Jenny when she’d had the miscarriage. Between all that and working insanely long shift lately, he was unsettled by the fact that he hadn’t had the chance to spend much time with Jenny. But, as always, she understood.

“I love you.” Joe blurted out as Jenny took his plate from the microwave and got a bottle of water from the fridge.

Jenny smiled at him as he pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her. “I love you too, you big dork.”

He felt like his face would cramp if he smiled any harder. He kissed her again and when he pulled away he had a somewhat serious look on his face. “Jen,” he began, bringing his hands up on either side of her face. “Promise me that won’t be us.”

Jenny pulled back only slightly, a confused look on her face. “What do you mean?”

He sighed before speaking. “Promise me we won’t shut down on each other, that if some really fucked up shit is happening we will talk about it even if it’s hard.”

Understanding dawned on Jenny and she nodded before leaning down to kiss Joe again. “I promise.”


End file.
